The Horde, The Vault, The Axe
by Luke Heffner
Summary: A Delire short story, no. 4: Faith, is the rock. Doubt, is sand.


**The Hive, The Vault, The Axe**

"Move the groxing servitors up!" Spittle flew from Delire's mouth as he yelled, trying to close the breach in the eastern corridor. Haltingly, the unnamed Mars adept issued his silent orders, the las cannon festooned servitors clunking forward on their metal cloven feet.

Delire slapped the interchange into place, locking the feed belt into proper position. He slapped Hellius, his neophyte, on the back of his head. Without a word, the heavy bolter armed almost-marine leapt forward into action. Rounds sprayed like rain into the oncoming ork tide, vying for space, eager to subsume the Templar line.

The pounding drum of the heavy bolter held no candle to Hellius's hawk like scream, his completely dialed up Vox speakers emitting the sound of battle lost in the rage of a still living servant of the Emperor.

One, two, three frag grenades arced over Hellius and the others in the heavy weapons squad, bouncing against the ancient ceiling of the Hab intersection. Their modified trajectory cut off, with shrapnel and fire, the reinforcements that were pouring in from the southern trouble.

The Ryza Tech Priest that had been dubbed Dauntless, was using his servo harness to much effect. His planets specialized knowledge in plasma weaponry allowed his servitors to provide a devastating counterpoint to the lethal bolter fire that Delire's marines were more than willing to dish out.

A Tech Marine or Priest was outfitted with a servo harness, linked to a reinforced skeleton. This harness contained many different tools and arms, capable of repairing and modifying the tough machinery that ran the Imperium. To the relatively soft bodies of the Xenos race of orks, it was death and whirring blood coated mechanical horror.

Bright flashes of light glittered, reflected from the ruined frescoes on every wall, indicating that the Mars servitors were at work. Plasma roared, and bolter chugged. The wounded Landraider behind Delire's forces finally began to add its firepower to the onslaught.

The advance deeper into the hive had become cumbersome at best. Here, Delire had found, were three tunnels full of orks laying in wait, to his one tunnel of hardened Templars. It was almost a fair fight.

A perfectly timed launch of frag grenades caused the ensuing front line of orks to stumble over chopped bodies, into the incoming fire from the marines. These added more bodies, more trampling, more confusion. Delire's newly issued tactics were beginning to tell, their worthiness in an arena such as this seemed to have begun paying off.

"Your help is ready, Oh Templar." The Mars Tech Priest's voice was as cold as it was artificial.

"Emperor save me. Fire then!" Delire's ancient bolter sought and cut down three more of the tribal orks that had climbed over their wasted kin.

A massive wave of expended ammo flew into the stacks of bodies and horde of orks. The three stowed Tarantula class heavy bolter turrets had been brought online with relative ease, and we adding their ability to the cause. Though, Delire would later note, the Martian Adept had done in two minutes what would take most others half an hour.

The sheer volume of bolter rounds, flamers, and plasma weapons seemed to be chewing through the ork mass at a frightening rate. But still, they kept blindly on. There had been no sign of a War Boss, or the statically larger Nobs.

An explosion out of place, sounded in the eastern corridor. Delire grimaced as he looked over, to find the Big Mek and its bodyguard pushing through the beleaguered marines and servitors. He cursed and grabbed a melta grenade that he had black-tapped to Hellius's ammo backpack. It was warm with the friction of the moving coil of shells within the back piece.

Four steps and he was right in the way of the larger, heavily modified ork. Its equipment and weapons seemed to be even more beat up and rusted than what was usually accepted even in ork circles. Two rounds from undisclosed gun comprising most of the right hand, sent dual impacts into Delire's chest, cracking the ceramite breastplate. But the slightly sticky grenade was jammed down into the crease between the shoulder and the armored leg system that the Big Mek owned. Delire shot out the knees of the bodyguard nearest him, and used his right foot to kick off the Big Mek's abdomen, barely being missed by a cracking klaw.

The resulting explosion of pitted iron and green blood flattened the Castellan, but when he rose, found it had relieved most of the ork's fighting force of their vigor. He painfully urged his troops forward, and the Templars took positions over the fallen xenos body piles, firing heatedly down the three tunnels now rapidly emptying of ork aggressors.

"Doesn't look too bad. Sixth and eighth rib broken, but no slivers. You should be fine." Gestus pressed the cracked ceramite breastplate back into place. Delire nodded, though was glad to hear it was not overly serious. This was but half a standard hour after the melee had taken place, marking their fourth area of major resistance since moving deeper into the still unnamed hive.

"How's Sergius doing?" Delire queried as he locked all three clamp Majoris shut.

Gestus, the resident Templar apothecary shook his head, then patted the armored compartment that was mainly used to hold collected geneseed specimens. "He will live on."

After a moment, Delire nodded. Sergius had been one of the first marines to be recruited from the fierce and native crew of the Emperor's Shield and the Emperor Provider. Their former death world had been purged of the xenos taint that had hunted them for generations, but they had desired to accompany their saviors instead of staying on their empty sphere of hives and memories.

"Yes, that he will." Delire said, as Gestus helped him up off the track maintenance compartment that they had been sitting and standing near, respectively. The second Landraider had moved up further crowding the cramped branch chamber. Both of the opposing Tech Adepts were working full time on restoring the damage Landraider to effective strength. Though the differed in sect opinions, they both operated with competence when Delire threatened them with a bolter round. Though, the Ryza adept seemed to be very devoted to the cause.

Delire put Sergius out of his mind, pushing foreward onto the things that needed to be done. Two out of the three extra branches would be collapsed by explosives, leaving only the deeper route for the Templars to travel. They had been moving for a week, after their wildly successful battle in the first encountered mass transit level. And it had availed them only several miles, hundreds of dead xenos, and seven remembered marines.

Already, things were too costly to Delire's taste, the souls of his battle tested marines infinitely more precious than the dirty souls of the orks.

"Alright, this is what we are going to do…."

The Dreadnought's footfalls were especially loud in the four-branch chamber. "Delire, Brother, How goes the Emperor's will?"

Delire removed the brush on a wire from the barrel of his ancient bolter, and actually got to look down at the Dreadnought. "It goes, surely and inescapably, doggedly and irrevocably." Delire's vantage point, his seat on the very top of Landraider One, allowed him a few scant inches to see over the vast walking Dreadnought.

The machine raised it's one power claw, arcing it up to near the Castellan's position. Delire made a fist, and punched the center of the dreadnought's hand.

They were old friends in truth, the Chaplin Ramiel now entombed in the eternal war machine that is a dreadnought. The signs of the camaraderie showing in such familial mannerism.

"I had thought I would not catch you. I brought you some help. As my ship's Lance batteries can not reach you down here, I thought it would be an appropriate gift." The dreadnought turned its box like torso, indicating with its singular manipulator arm.

Behind him stood thirty cut to the hilt, Guardsmen. Well, they would have been guardsmen, in Delire's first estimation. But in truth they were battle hardened crew from their Ships that orbited far above Tigrus. Some had still been born on their native hives, while others had been born aboard the vast ships that the Ivory Fleet used. Both ways, were indicative of fierce urban and close quarters fighters.

Delire saluted them, fist to the chest. They replied in kind, though their independence of stance showed their difference between tribal warriors and soldiers. Each were equally valuable, given the circumstances.

"This rag tag group? Are you sure you want to be seen with such?" Delire laughingly posed to the Chaplain.

"Oh they will do their worst. I have faith in them." Ramiel's surprising reply caused Delire to only nod, at a lack of words for reply. The Chaplain's trust in human kind never was one of his strong points.

"Well, I guess that will have to do." Delire plinked an empty bolter shell of off Ramiel's tomb cover, which was on the front armor of the Dreadnought. But he quickly leapt back, laughing over the intercom. It was good for even marines to hear a bit of moral boosting smiles, even in just voice. "Mount up. Third speed."

Everyone quickly got into their places. Delire pondered what to do with the crew contingent for a moment, when he saw that Ramiel had moved completely independently of the waiting atmo-suited humans.

"Hellius, Front and double time." A few seconds after Delire's request, the Neophyte appeared before him, Heavy Bolter tilted up to his shoulder.

"Castellan, Neophyte Reporting." Delire paused at Hellius's reply, but decided to plunge onwards.

"Neophyte Hellius, Take these men into your wing, and consider them your unit. They die for you, you die for them. Understood?" The formal speech did not roll easily off Delire's tongue, but it was there regardless. Delire had kept the internal com system open, allowing for anyone to hear. That included the human forces that Ramiel had brought, and he could see a couple heads moving from side to side, curious as to the result of these decisions.

"Blood for blood, Sancti Humanus. I hear and obey." Hellius spun on his back foot, bringing him face to face with the largest of the human guardsmen, who was literally quite a few inches above the neophyte in head height.

Though Delire had not wished the next event, he would later put it on his report of Hellius's behavior, as a merit.

The Neophyte slowly inclined his covered face to the crewman before him. Both were obscured and covered by atmo-masks, due to the noxious atmosphere of the unnamed hive. But after a moment, the almost-marine nailed the crewman in the gut, leaving a dent in the human's carapace armor. Though his blow could have been much, much harder, Hellius had intended to only double over the disrespectful human. And that he did.

The rest of the unit formed itself wordlessly on the heavy weapon toting Neophyte, who looked to Delire for further orders.

The Castellan indicated a rear guard action, and after a moment of most likely seething irritation, Hellius deployed his squad accordingly. Delire did not notice, his attention was elsewhere. The scales that he had originally found in their first battle with the resident xenos, were about the size of small dinner plates. Their last engagement had shown a much higher concentration of these pieces, sometimes used as armor. Obviously they were some sort of status symbol, or perhaps monetary in value. Delire didn't know, but it was troubling some part of his mind that was not immediately at the fore front of his attention.

"Further In, Further Down!" Delire called, as the engines exploded into life.

At every intersection they imploded all auxiliary entry points that they could find. This had called for many influxes of munitions, but Delire hoped it was worth it. They had effectively sealed, and with the help of the newly manufactured Tarantula class automated gun systems, Delire felt fairly secure about their route. They continued deeper, heading every towards the reactors that had been shown on the resident and vastly ancient map. There was no telling what the orks had done with this hive in particular, but he was hoping that it could be isolated to Only this hive.

Time would tell.

The heat pouring off the plasma guns mounted on the side of the Landraider bubbled some of the paint on Delire's right arm. The specially made Ryza made Landraider had proved its effectiveness again and again in these pitched, midnight battles.

Delire's chainsword sung as it knocked down the lumbering Nob in front of him, shearing through the tissue just under the rib cage. The large ork almost took Delire down with him when it fell, twisting in ripped guts.

The Castellan looked about himself, but there was nothing but living marines and dead green bodies. Any that had intact heads were crushed under Templar boots, securing their staying-dead-ness. Delire had already fought the same Nob twice in this little conflict, the one he shot in the throat had the time to regenerate and leap at him, in less than the space of a half an hour. His Bolter round must have gone through the skin, and failed to detonate.

The Dreadnought crushed whole bodies under its large foot, as it made its way over to Delire. "This is smaller than the last attack."

Delire nodded, and wiped green slime from his helmet. "And smaller than the time before. And more of these." Delire broke the chain of scales away from the Nob's arm, hanging up the apparent trophies for any to see.

"Reptile, I would imagine. Big." The Dreadnought Ramiel studied the scales. Only Neilus, the Tech Marine back on the Emperor's Shield knew what sensors a Dreadnought had to bring to bare. "If it is a standard year, which I am sure it is not, to indicate; then the animal that this came from was five years of age."

Ramiel tried to point out the tell tail signs to Delire, but the large war manipulator of the Dreadnought was not an accurate pointing system. After a few moments, they both gave up on it. Ramiel was angry and shamed that he could not point out what seemed obvious to him, and Delire was embarrassed and sad at his eternally wounded friend. The Chaplain's body had been entombed in the great machine after having taken massive damage. Less than a few years ago in fact.

"So… do you think they are running out of troops?" Delire sounded doubtful.

"No, not these orks. Unless they have a natural predator, or some insanely low amount of naturally existing food, they will be in numbers a hundred times what we have already killed." Ramiel shifted uneasily, the foot of his machine grinding some unknown corpse to paste.

"What's keeping them?"

"I don't know. Perhaps these are but the hot-heads. I don't think these are from the same tribe as the time before. Look at the scar on that one's forehead. Definitely different than the last. More, snake like." Ramiel pulled something from a compartment in his large armored chest. The manipulator, still perhaps unused to gentle movements, tossed it carefully to Delire.

Delire caught it without looking at it directly, but presently found it to be a small flask of Ramiel's famed port. The Chaplain, in life, had brewed alcohols flavored with holy herbs and powerful chemicals. It had been his monastic duty, before recruitment into the Black Templars.

Delire saluted him with the bottle. A soft hiss came from the Castellan's unlatching helmet, which he removed. He visibly drew in a breath of the poisonous air. The Preomnor and Multi-Lung organs kicked in immediately. The air burned the back of his throat, and caused his lips to go instantly numb. But none the less, he took a swig of the delicately balanced port, mostly for the show of the marines nearby. The care free attitude would dispel most of their trouble, if they had any.

Delire slowly reattached his helmet, hermetically sealing it into place with casual ease that he did not really feel. His eyes burned, chastising him against his pride.

"Ok, mark your last corpses."

The whole contingent soon reported that all heads crushed. They were ready to move deeper into the Hive's bowels.

It wasn't until two deserted intersections, which were properly sealed, did one of the surprisingly still working halo-lamps flickered on.

Delire's careful working downwards so ended, as at least one of the reactors had been restarted.

The Landraider's impact made a mess of the press of green bodies. The extremely heavy engine, also needed to fire the unorthodox sponson-mounted plasma guns, revved dangerously high as it crushed into the mass.

Delire, atop the Landraider, threw frag grenades from the bag at his feet. Crude fire arms, previously unseen, fired in reply. Several bullets glanced off of the Castellan's armor, and one lodged in his left elbow joint. He suit said that it had stopped the round, but that mobility was reduced. Delire didn't allow a moments thought to it, continuing to throw the fragmentation grenades at every opportunity.

The two Landraider and escort convoy had broken into a huge level, the final resting place of the tunnel they had been traveling down. In the now dim light, thanks to one or two still working lights, Delire could barely make out the standing egg shaped reactor directly in front of them. Of course the egg was over three hundred feet tall, and was more than two hundred yards away. Between the Templar force and the reactor, were thousands of orks.

They came in all sizes, all shades of green. Delire could see many different tribal standards among them, and several heavily weaponed War Bosses. A few Big Meks too. Only a small percentage had guns, or any working technology at all. And those that did, seemed to be not as proficient with them as most orks Delire had the fortune of killing. But, unusually so, there was no clear leader. No greatest and most trophy draped war boss. Most of them looked about equal in their advertisements of strength.

But it didn't matter at the moment. The two Landraiders had punched through the closed meter thick doors, thanks too Landraider One's specialist plasma armaments. Through the glowing hole and into the ork horde, they had plowed, all weapons running hot.

Now, they stood side by side in the entry doors, denying the orks a swarming effect. What orks that could squeeze through the few foot gaps on either side were quickly shot by the Crewmen behind. Soon the bodies effectively plugged the holes as it was.

The six tubes located directly under the Landraider's twin assault cannons fired again and again. They were frag grenade launchers, designed to force an enemy to keep it's head down behind cover. But in an area such as this, there was no 'cover'. Shrapnel, Delire would later note, was perhaps the best invention since the gun.

Delire had begun to prime and roll. Tweaking the priming switch on the frag grenade, and simply casting it along the hull to drop over the side. The Orks were trying to climb up onto the Landraiders.

Ramiel in the center between the two Landraiders, was laying down fire into the green tide, the assault cannon he had for a left arm threw empty casings in a shower onto Landraider Two.

Delire pointed out a large armored Big Mek moving forward through the ranks, crushing or throwing the smaller orks in front of it. Aneston nodded, and swiveled the pintle-mounted multi-melta gun towards it. The powerful heat ray made little noise or light, but the rays turned the rusty Big Mek into a bubbling pool in mere moments. Delire had already moved on, jabbing his combat knife into the skull of a climbing ork. It had made it just over the lip of the Landraider, and was had to have been a brave and good climber. However, the ork was not as proficient in dodging, though it did take Delire's knife as it fell.

The Castellan jumped over the again firing beam of invisible Melta rays, rolling his ancient Bolter off his shoulder, blasting away into the crowd of scrambling bodies. Everywhere a shot was fired, another ork was hit. It was impossible to miss in the press, and Delire would have relegated a good amount of kills to trampling.

Somewhere in the background, an ancient fire alarm kicked on, protesting at the smoke and fumes that were rising from the heated combat.

His head crunched against his helmet, as it slammed into the Nob's nose. It stumbled back slightly, and Delire kicked it off the top of the Landraider. The smaller ork that had a firm hold of his left arm received a blow to the neck, and Delire tossed him off as well. More and more orks had been gaining the roof of the Landraiders. Delire retrieved his chainsword from below him. On Landraider two, Theodore was dealing death with his personalized close combat weapons. It was a maelstrom of death, spitting corpses and green blood into the press.

Delire was having trouble even keeping up with the much valued Brothers in Chain member. The special Templar squad held Theodore as their close-quarters specialist.

The Bolt pistol bucked in his hand, blowing the cranial top from another ork who moved its head up above the roof of the Landraider.

Both machines, including Ramiel in his Dreadnought had moved five meters back into the tunnel that had originally brought them to the reactor room. Their back step had been a crowning point for the ork defenses, and they had hurled themselves with even greater fervor at the Templar forces. But with the reduced space, and easier target selection of the tunnel instead of the huge room, the kills were literally stacking up.

Delire was down to his last clip on his Bolter, and his pistol fared little better. Landraider Two, who had been of the Crusader pattern, had gone all but quiet. Its side sponson-mounted hurricane Bolters having run out of their massive capacity of ammo. Only the plasma guns of Landraider One were still active, though they glowed brighter than any of the lights. Suddenly the side sponsons of Two dropped off, the clang of their striking the floor muffled by the bodies already there. Out of the newly opened portals fired flamers and heavy bolters, the Marines housed within poured fire into the green tide.

About Ramiel was a swirling melee, the large Dreadnought flailing about itself with the battered corpse of a Big Mek, which was dented beyond almost all recognition. But on all sides the orks were slowly, but surely seeping behind the Templar's valiant position.

They would have surely been surrounded and consumed, had it not been for the Child.

A blast of air nearly knocked Delire from the top of the Landraider, into the waiting host of grasping orkish hands and crude weapons. Hellstrike missiles screeched over his head, impacting into the crowded tunnel. The ancient train rail tunnel that the Templars were in, lit up like dawn. Lascannons and a Battle Cannon roared, blowing further gaps into the ork press, the adamantine bones of the Hive-local shaking with its rapport.

Delire regaining his balance with the blast of concussion from the impact of the Battle Cannon's shell, turned quickly. There, hovering with its VTOL engines at full bore, was a Thunderhawk gunship. The tips of it's wings had been scraped away on some unknown wall, and its far right hand engine seemed to have a cough to it, but it was there. The flashes from the twin-linked heavy bolters mounted on either side of the cockpit, threw up a brilliance that made it seem more angelic than real.

Delire screamed the command to charge. The blast assault doors of both Landraiders blew out at the top, while the bottom held to the hinge. The several tons of armored door crushed any opponents before it, as the Marines stormed forth with a holy testimony of pain and anger.

The Castellan leapt down into the midst of the black armored, white hooded marines. A banner bearer raised the Ivory Fleet's standard high, as vox-amplified screams echoed in the train tunnel.

The marines, fresh into battle, tore into the standing ork ranks. Blood and bile flew everywhere, and limbs gained wings. The Heavy weapons marines balanced their muzzles and nozzles on the shoulders of the close combat marines in front of them, blazing away into the green misting darkness.

Hellius, tired of the guard duty that had been relegated to him, charged his armored human unit in through the Dreadnought's legs. Full automatic lasguns discharges, brilliant blue against xenos green, ripped chunks and burned holes through bodies both stacked and standing. The crew availed themselves well that day.

"Templars!" Delire's maxed out Vox speakers roared at the cry, while three bolter shells brought down two orks directly in front of him. The forward ranks had nowhere to go. Behind them was a sea of orks waiting to battle, and before them were ranks of enraged marines still fresh and unabashed in their bloodshed.

The Child seemed to have been whipped just as much into a fury as the next marine. He had been carrying a heavy Bolter, with its ammo pack at the beginning of the venture downwards into the Hive. When Delire had the moment to look over into the region of Landraider Two, the Child had two heavy bolters balanced over the chest armor of a fallen marine. One ammo belt was still linked to the Child's backpack provider, where as Delire could not see where the other lead. The machines were chattering at great speed, flinging metal curses and explosive hate at the enemy before the sacred Neophyte.

Marines crowded around the Child, emptying promethium tanks into the gaps created by the failing ork charge. The Gunship kept up its fire, raining hot death and detriment into the pressed together ork mass. Sardines were not as forced as the ranks pushed back and forth between those who had lost moral, and those who still had it.

The doors into the Generatorium were recovered, as the spread of contagious loss of moral lanced through the ork forces. Most of the larger War Bosses or Big Meks had been lost already, their higher profile making them a priority target. Eventually it came down to will to fight and will to live. The arrival of the damaged Gunship had changed much in the course of the conflict. It, though it could not fit into the Generatorium with the doors still intact, hovered just behind. It provided fire support and tactical views to those blessed with a command class Auspex upgrade.

The green horde was definitively in retreat. Clambering over shoals of bodies and sandbars of puddled tissue, they went scampering. The Templars did not allow them a peaceful retreat, wasting many a round into a green back.

It wasn't until the fourth beat that Delire noticed that something in the dynamic around him had changed. It wasn't until the seventh that he called the marines who were near by, to him. It wasn't until the tenth, when he saw the orks stopping their retreat, that he ordered a consolidated position for all the Templars currently deployed.

The pulsing beats were coming from the reactor, very far from him, but directly in the foreground.

Well not from the reactor itself, but the thing rising from its slow coils that made up the basis of the reactor itself. What Delire had attributed to some ancient heat distribution tubes, slowly uncoiled and rose to an incredible height.

Four ruby eyes, with unfettered delight, sent beams of red light down upon the battlefield. They weaved this way and that, independently searching out points or bodies of interest. Within seconds they all joined upon the Templar position, near the Train entrance.

Orkish language spewed from a massive mouth, making no sense to any of the Templars there. Even the Child postured himself into a brace position, which was more than enough for Delire. But something indeed did compel him to step forward. He clambered up onto a stack of tribal ork corpses, and stared up into the beast's face.

"Submit!" The only word that came to mind, Delire cursed himself inwardly at his lack of vocal finesse.

"Su…B….Meet. Meet, to see…..You are 'oomans." The gigantic serpent recoiled, as if struck. "Parquets. Paribas. Parlay." The beast seemed to be attempting almost random words to get some point across, though it was hundreds of yards long, and devilishly toothed.

Delire thought for a moment, then racked his Bolter. The serpent was easily several hundred feet long, and more than twenty feet in girth. Epic did little to affect the total being. And Delire had a pretty good idea of where those scales had been coming from.

"There can be no parlay with Xenos." Delire made the sign of the Emperor.

Ramiel fired a sustained burst into the underside of Serpent's jaw, causing it no visible damage. But it reared back in natural anger. The Orks about it, leapt forward in response to their deity's discomfort.

Delire barely had time to make it back to the Templar line, if it could be called that, before the Orks and Serpent struck. The Multi-Meltas aboard both Landraiders bubbled and popped scales from the massive organism. The flesh beneath seemed oily and soft like sponge cloth.

Newly dropped munitions, thanks to the Gunship, had restored the Landraiders to the former glory. Assault cannons and hurricane bolters spewed explosive bolts into pulpy green figures, bringing them to their knees or worse with every round.

The Snake was another story, in of itself. Its third grasping chomp at the Marine line netted it Ramiel's Dreadnought. The large machine was chewed and gulped down in a series of muscle contraction, that were titanic in their scale. Delire despaired a the loss of the Dreadnought, the melee becoming instantly unstable between the parked Landraiders. The spot that Ramiel had occupied was immediately filled with raging ork and hard pressed Marines desperate to hold the line that Delire had ordered them to.

In another vast area nearby, the final synopsis of the combat filled generatorium was decided. The fire alarm that had originally gone off, which had not been activated for a staggeringly long time, activated the ((NH4)H2PO4) systems. It wasn't before a few minutes of fighting that Delire noticed the seepage.

"Back Step! Theta-Alpha, Back Step." With each of his orders, the Templar formations moved back into the tunnel.

"Back Step, Gamma-Gamma" Delire force all of his forces to take a seven step a minute backwards movement, while continuing to empty everything that they had into the ork body.

The Serpent couldn't comfortably fit into the train tunnel, its head and crest being wider than even the Thunderhawk that waited in the darkness just beyond anyone's sight. It had sustained a medium amount of damage in even getting down the massive tunnel. Delire had since kept it in reserve, ready to plug any holes that might erupt.

But as the off-white foam began to rise, it wasn't until it was at knee level, did the first Ork notice. Much fluid had been given off in the Templar's back and forth grinder tactics. But this was different, and the notice was apparent and spread to many others in a very short span.

The ((NH4)H2PO4), which was later identified as monoammonium phosphate, had begun to rise to near tidal levels. Due to the sloping effect of the Train Tunnel that the Templars still held as their own, the off-white foam could not reach them. In the end, it became more of an attempt to keep frightened orkish units from escaping past them, as the ballast of the flame retardant, coupled with the gravatic level, closed off the Generatorium to the Templars. It had become an L dipped in water at its junction, accessible at neither end.  
The Child looked up at Delire, and the Castellan was sure he was smiling. He could tell from the way the Child's odd shaped pupils danced.

It was an hour of shooting floundering orks that drifted up through the foam, before a much greater figure began rising, disturbing much of the now greenish stuff.

Delire was about to order the gunship to unleash with its Lascannons, when he recognized the dreadnought's outline. He was absolutely covered with relatively sticky foam, and was dragging a vast kelp looking mass. No one was really sure what it was.

Ramiel, did not say a word. Eventually, a couple of hours later, there was huge muffled thud that shook the hive itself. All of the lights, except for the Templar's own went out minutes after, as residual energy faded.

Eventually when enough water could be found, Delire ordered Ramiel to get hosed down. The Child shot open an aquifer line, and guided the spray with a rusty sheet of metal. He seemed to be enjoying himself, sloshing the foam from the revered dreadnought.

When they sloughed off the mass of unknowns, it turned out to be a very large eye. It came up to Delire's waist, and he was topping nine feet tall in his armor. Everyone just kind of stood around it, looking at it. Hellius got brave and touched it with his foot.

"Yup. Definitely an eye."

"Big."

"Yup.. really big."

Come to find out, Delire would later note, that there was more than one of these snakes. Xenos Biologicus received a full report of what Delire had to say about these creatures. The large one that they fought in the Generatorium, was abnormally large. Most of them, as the Templars purged their way lower in the hive, were only about the size of a Razorback Transport. But they had scales that could shift with camouflage, and as far as could be told, could not speak. When examined by Gestus, the Templar Apothecary, he could find no evidence of vocal cords, and even the eye structure was different.

So in conclusion, Delire wrote, "I consider that to be a fluke, or perhaps a mutation. Perhaps a completely diverted species, or evolutionary spike. Regardless, it is dead and buried in thousands of tons of now radioactive foam. There is no Parlay with the Templars."

"It is indeed a door my lord, though to what I do not know." The Mars Adept, always formal and cold, noted to Delire.

"And they hadn't found this? How is that possible. Orks conquered this world five millennia ago." Delire stood in front of a huge wall, crumbled frescos and murals covering the surface.

"Ahh, my lord, they can not see as I do." The Adept replied, but such was true. Delire couldn't even see the Priests eyes behind the mechanical face mask that it wore. Actually, when the Castellan thought about it, that might be its face.

"Can you open it?"

"Doubtful m'lord. Not without restoring power. And I would imagine that the generatorium is completely destroyed in that contained blast."

"A lot of good that does us. What about plasma or a Lascannon?"

"…doubtful. It is naval speck adamantium. What ever is behind the door is very well protected and very well hidden. Had I not noted a slight shift in the…." The Mars priest rambled on, speaking in terms that Delire had no grasp on.

When he was finished, Delire growled. "Then what can we do?"

There was a long pause. After a few minutes, the Ryza priest approached, bidden by some invisible signal. The two Machine priests stood close, though their views creating a rift between them that was unseen. Delire, had they been marines, could have swore that they were speaking to each other, but no sound of audible communication was to be found on any bandwidth that Delire could surf on his command unit.

Finally, both of the priests turned to him, offering a solution.

The loss of containment caused an eight foot arch of blue electricity to lash about the broken seal. It brushed Brother Nicodemus, but his suit mostly deflected the blow. He leapt back, cursing over the com system.

"Stow it marine." Delire moved forward, as he had been instructed, and caught the thrashing eleven inch around cable. He felt the electricity going through him, rushing through his body and down into the metal floor beneath him. With a violent twist, he racked the male and female connecters into place again. There was a haze of steam and oxidants rising from him when it had finished.

Vansaulder just laughed at Nicodemus, and threw a pack of rations, bouncing it off the marine's chest armor. Brother Nic picked it up and threw it right back. Delire did not stay around for the friendly brawl that followed, but instead walked along the cable's length to the pried-open access panel that both of the Tech priests were bent over. The power system of Landraider One, with its specially heavy engine needed to run the plasma weaponry mounted on it, had been rigged through the cable into a non standard and ancient power port in the floor.

Sparks blew as a circuit melted, but the seven others revealed by the access point started to slowly light up. Dust shivered from the not so gentle vibrations caused by some very old engine starting up, creating small wisps of dust from the disturbed circuits. Age old unguents and litanies were poured by the priests onto the machine parts, calling forth its resident machine spirit, gradually awakening it back to life.

Dauntless, the so dubbed Ryza born machine priest, then hit some integral part inside the glacially slow moving cogs beneath the delicate circuits. He did so with a five foot long piece of rusted rebar, but it seemed to work. The gears immediately started to flow and grind faster, and the rumbling increased.

They had spotted the extremely well hidden door on their way down through what had been one of the richer parts of the hive, consisting now of rubble and ruin. Apparently the area had been too clean for the Ork residents, for there was little infestation here. Though there were many of the 'sludge snakes', for they seemed to have created for themselves cradles and or pools of some inky black and brown fluid. Delire had collected many samples of the liquid, and was seriously thinking of picking up the hobby of studying the various xenos races he had been exposed too. At least the ones that wouldn't shoot at him.

As the cogs moved faster and faster, Delire took a step back from the access point. The captain of a naval vessel, he had seen some pretty horrific industrial accidents. The two priests seemed unfazed.

"So this will work?" Delire yelled over the increasing din.

"By the Machine God it will." Replied the Mars Adept.

"Mmmm….yup." Replied the Ryza Adept.

Delire didn't have much to say at this point. He quickly checked on his perimeter units, but all lights flashed a light blue, indicating stress and heart levels as low.

"Landraiders, Target Door. Enemy Overwatch initiate." Delire said into the Com link as he loosened his chainsword from his belt. There was no telling what could be beyond a door like this, massive beyond telling and viably ancient.

The assorted weaponry of Landraider Two moved very slightly. The operator's attention had already been on the door, but the Overwatch command was nothing to be trifled with. Enemy Overwatch would instantly fire upon anything that did not hold a Black Templar signature. Any motion further than a slight waggle of fingers was enough to draw all fire upon to that location.

Gradually, the door began opening. It was not first apparent, but when the decorations began to flake and fall off, it was a fairly clear sign of motion. The now automated guns tracked each falling bit of plaster and permacrete.

"What ever is behind that door, it was sealed up long before those decorations were applied." The Child, standing near Delire, noted and pointed out several areas supporting his statement. In retrospect, it was not surprising.

"They went through a great amount of trouble to keep it hidden." Hellius interjected, sitting atop a rogue ork corpse near by.

The gap of the door had still yet to be seen. It was sliding from side to side, not outward or inward as Delire would have personally predicted. There was more armor and plating attached to it than had been his first estimate upon visual inspection.

The frescos were making a pile of decrepit statues at one corner of the sliding door when the first hint of an opening was visible. From the most conservative estimates, the cylindrical door, for it was slightly curved, had rotated more than 80 degrees from its original starting point.

The Overwatch slaved Lascannons shifted into place, but there was nothing to be seen but a black gap, slowly opening. It was a section cut out of the eight foot thick naval grade adamantium, probably twelve feet high. Its other dimensions were not disclosed in the initial opening.

Delire lit a pitch torch from the holy brazier hanging from the side sponson of Landraider One, and called his squad plus the Child and Hellius to him. Ramiel in his massive dreadnought tomb, would have trouble fitting through the space given, and chose to oversee the defenses. Though Delire noted that he kept his com line open, listening to the party of Marines.

"Star-6 deploy. Hellius, take right. Child, center stage. I will take point. Pistols and Chains behind me." Delire counted off, giving the huddle of marines their positioning orders. The full Bolter equipped marines would be in the rear, while the close combat would be right behind Delire. This could mean down to a matter of feet between the marines, but it had worked for the Castellan many times before.

A good portion of them still had working should lamps, or other means of light bearing substances. But a few of them, like Delire, carried dripping and sizzling torches.

No one was prepared for what lay ahead in the darkness.

Jeweled display cases, brilliantly decorated pedestals, revered data crystals, ancient machines, and a small row of stasis tanks. Dust coated carpets and decaying trophies, xenos artifacts and precious universal diagrams. It was a room filled with the untouched and made the entering Marines feel small and insignificant. Here was old, here was ancient it said, show me respect.

Delire waved his torch about, examining many of the things in passing, glancing through dust covered glass.

"Take it all." Was all that needed to be said.

The data crystals revealed much. They showed the last plights and defenses of the Tigrus forces. They fought, not very well, but with heart. But there is little to stop the Green Tide, as the Imperium of Man had learned in painful ways. Only the strongest of defenses and the most stalwart of defenders could stunt the combined efforts of the Ork race. Though if they were ever wholly unified, to a being, there would be no force in the galaxy that could hold them at bay.

The last memos and Will of the Hive Lord Astrius were contained on the data crystals recovered from the trophy room. The bodies in the stasis chambers, which the Lord had staked his fortune and ultimately his life, had failed long since before. The entire family was entombed there, but had been reduced to recycled dust and protein goo, within the supposedly self sustaining tubes.

At the beginning of the siege of the Tigrus Forge world, this noble had ordered himself and his family protected behind his 'impenetrable' bolt hole, and sealed inside metal coffins that would supposedly support them until help came. Unfortunately help came four thousand and two hundred years later than expected. There was nothing left of the great 'noble' but a collection of mechanical implants clustered at the bottom of his stasis tube, and a swirling bath of proteins made from the same body of the man who had originally entombed himself within.

With many of the original blue-prints in hand, the Templar forces were able to locate several other caches of supplies and ancient machines meant for some long dead noble's use. They had been more of Imperical acquisitions than actual artifacts, but they found a purpose and point in Delire's campaign against the indigenous tribes of orks that held the Hive as home.

Several unorthodox vehicle designs resulted from the successful liberation of such data caches, rising the resident Mars and Ryza Adepts into a positive frenzy of examination and dissection..

However, the Child did present something of note to Delire. Sifting through the first repository, the Child found something that for some reason, was presented to the Castellan.

"This is yours." The Child enigmatically spoke, as it handed the glowing axe to Delire. The weapon auto-balanced itself into Delire's hand, when he gripped the adamantium haft. The blade on the axe was pure and clean. No sigils or signs resided on the head or shaft, and the power coil for the weapon was amazingly small. It barely even registered a minute bump in the resident make up of the Axe. It cut as easily into armor as it did rusted iron. Delire did no know what to say to the gift, though as it turned out, no statement was or would be needed.

Ramiel and Neilus the Tech marine personally took charge of consecrating the weapon. They spent several weeks aboard the Emperor's Shield, the work area sealed off and unreachable to even Delire. Many servitor's were brought into the closed confines, some to never be seen again.

While this went on, the Castellan oversaw the consolidation of the now identified Hive Astrius. The Lance batteries aboard the Emperor Provider were constantly at work, destroying the vast pipe network that apparently connected Hive Astrius with its neighbors. Travel over the surface was technically possible, but in a moral stand point, unfeasible. The orks could never be totally eradicated from the Hive, due to their spore like breeding abilities. But they could be dramatically wiped out. When the purge had been claimed complete, Delire ordered all access points, vent shafts, tunnels, structural openings, and electrical conduits melted shut or otherwise closed. He sealed tight the underbelly of the Hive, with full knowledge that eventually, the Orks would be back. But not any time soon.

In a solemn procession, held within the mustering hall aboard the Emperor's Shield, Ramiel and Neilus gradually trod the black carpet. The Dreadnought's heavy footsteps were hardly muffled. The silent ranks of Marines and Neophytes stood still, in attention with full weapon deployment.

Beyond them, were the expectant faces of the crew. They perhaps knew more about this than Delire did. The Castellan had been obviously tricked into showing up. He thought he had been going to meet Ramiel in a tactical discussion. When he showed up, the whole room was full, but for the actual Tactica desk.

Delire brushed nothingness from his armored limbs, in an attempt to look presentable. He could understand why Ramiel would trick him, the Castellan didn't believe in much pomp and ceremony. It bothered him, being of a straight forward mindset.

Ramiel moved to the Tactica desk, turning to the vast audience. "Castellan Delire Omsheir, present yourself."

Delire paused for only a few moments, giving emphasis. Though he hated these formal things, he had become good at them. He walked down the opening path before him, coming to stand in front of the slight platform.

"I am Castellan Delire Omsheir, of the geneseed of Corzin. Of Melnus. Of Degren." As was customary, Delire recited the names of the Marines that had shared his personal geneseed. Their deaths were the reasons he stood here now, accepted and honored among the elite of the Emperor's forces.

"Castellan Delire, further honor is to rest upon your shoulders, of which you know not. This is but the beginning." Ramiel's speakers crackled slightly as the Dreadnought gestured with it's left arm.

At the signal the tribal drums of the Crew broke into a slow rhythm, that gained in tempo with every passing minute. Down the procession way, stepped the Child. Garbed in flowing white and black robes, his face was hidden from view by a voluminous hood. In his outstretched arms he held a long wooden case, closed with a single brass latch.

Upon reaching Delire, he stopped before the Castellan, holding out the case for inspection.

Delire didn't have much to go on. This was no ceremony that he had ever seen or heard of.

Sensing his hesitation, Ramiel cycled open his power claw, indicating at the case. "This is yours. It always has been."

Delire reached out, and opened the case. In a moment of shifting light, he caught sight of the Child's face. It seemed….. sad. But the image was gone before the marine had time to contemplate on it.

Inside the case lay the power axe that had origionally been captured in the Vault, as it had come to be called. Its head was adorned with the most powerful wards, Eldritch symbols Delire would never understand had been carefully and reverently etched into every inch of the weapon. Sacred items and the knuckle bones that Ramiel had carried all his marine life graced the weapon, in arcane locations of import and mathematical precision. The symbols of the Machine God and the Emperor were present in equal number. Holy power thrummed through the haft, as he removed the weapon from it's resting place. Even inert, sparks and electrical arcs spat from the blade, dancing along Delire's arm with no apparent sensation or injury.

"Destiny awaits you, Delire. This is your phoenix." Ramiel said softly.

Delire raised the axe, emotions riding high, above his head and thumbed the activator switch with a yell.

Brilliant white light emptied the room of darkness as the weapon became active. The screams and yells of the surrounding Marines, pandemonium like in their joy and support, were drowned by the Child's cry. It rumbled through everyone present.

"Ave Imperetor!"

Unknown distance and time away, Farseer Yestus jerked up from his meditation position. He staggered back on hands before the specter of the exultant Delire, resplendent in blazing light and shining armor.

The spirits about the Farseer, forever contained in the wraith bone constructs, shivered at the impact of the psychic waves.

"So…..it has come to pass."

Yestus called upon a messenger to send to the Web Guides. The message was simple, without expansion. It was, "Change course. It is done."


End file.
